The Crow

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How beautiful the crow is as he sits up in the tree,

ruffling up his feathers while staring down at me.

His gaze is unfaltering and at me he continues to stare,

I can see what he has endured and the pain he can bare.

The crow has an amazing strength and strong-minded will,

he hunts without mercy, until he has had his fill.

His feathers are dipped in ink of midnight black,

and his beak is dark blue with a single, scarred crack.

His eyes glow a wicked yellow and look startlingly fierce,

if he really wanted to, I bet it is my soul he could pierce.

The crow is far more intelligent than what people know,

he knows from wrong and right, the correct way to go.

He sees the truth and peers far past the lies,

I bet he can see into the future and see my great demise.

Similar to a writing desk, something I don't quite understand,

but such beauty, I can't help but reach out my hand.

To me this bird is better than any other flock or herd,

The Crow is, by far, the most extraordinary bird.

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